How James Bond Stole Christmas (Blame it on the High-Tech Mistletoe)
by Italian.CtrlFrk
Summary: Q does not enjoy parties. At all. So when he is all but blackmailed by M to attend the annual office Christmas Party, he is forced to find ways to entertain himself. The only problem is, James Bond keeps popping up, and while he is pretty bloody fit, he is also an enormous prick who Q simply does not want to deal with. And then there's the thrice damned high-tech mistletoe.


MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS, HAVE SOME 00Q

* * *

Q hadn't thought much of the attraction he felt for 007 when he was hired. It wasn't that he thought it was unimportant; there had been a lot going on, and he had had more important things to worry about. Even after the Skyfall fiasco was over, there was too much to be done to be obsessing over a small crush; MI6's security was deplorable, and Q had immediately jumped at the opportunity to try out his new system. On top of that, 007 was rarely ever at HQ, and when he was, he was too busy being an annoying little prick or breaking all of Q's gadgets to be all that attractive. So Q never really got around to freaking out about how he thought one of the world's deadliest killers and most irritating bastards (not to mention Q's co-worker) was really bloody fit. But it wasn't as if he was alone; he would bet that every new employee went through a 'James Bond adjustment period', so even when he did start noticing how his eyes followed the agent whenever he was around or how he occasionally wanked to the thought of Bond breaking into his house and screwing him into the wall, he really wasn't concerned by it. No, the first time Q actually began to take it into account was at the office Christmas party.

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MI6 always did things differently than one might expect. Of course, most of this was easily explainable by the nature of MI6, but when one worked in espionage, it bled into more things than you might realize. This was particularly obvious come the holidays. For example, most companies would put up festive decorations of wreaths and lights and Christmas trees come December; MI6 prided itself in its traditions of a wreath made of guns and a tree adorned with explosives (which really was a serious hazard, if you thought about it; there were none that could do any real damage, but still). Shops may have holiday sales and raffles; MI6 had an employee discount sale on all weapons the Q branch considered too outdated. Office workers might come to work with a Santa hat or a Christmas jumper on; MI6 employees started pulling out the red and green holsters and sheaths. Yes, MI6 was strange in its holiday celebrations. So you might imagine that a Christmas party at MI6 would be anything but normal. You would be right.

"Jack, do you have that hangover powder I asked for?" Q asked from his place under the Christmas tree. He was wiring it so that the smaller, more colorful explosives would go off simultaneously tonight at midnight. It was Christmas Eve, and everyone was off work to prepare for the party. Q wasn't particularly thrilled about it, but it allowed him to test out his new remote control, undetectable tranquilizer dart. He would fill the capsule with diluted alcohol and see how many people he could hit without them realizing it. It should be an entertaining way to spend the evening.

"Yes sir, right here. Should I put it on your desk?" Jack replied. Q fiddled with the wire in his hand slightly before responding.

"No, take it to Eve. She's organizing the gift bags; tell her to put a teaspoon in everyone's bag," Q stood up, running his hand through his hair several times to get the pine needles out. Jack nodded and scampered off toward the main hall. MI6 was still based underground, and Q was beginning to wonder if they would ever relocate back into an actual building. Not that he was complaining; he had never actually worked in the old MI6 building before, so it wasn't as though he was feeling nostalgia or anything. It would just be interesting to actually be working in the real Q branch, where there were decades worth of gadgets and history. Also, it got a bit damp down in the sewers.

"Q," a deep voice pulled him from his musings, and Q sighed. So much for getting anything done.

"007," he replied coldly, turning around to face the smirking agent, "What do you want?"

"You've got something in your hair," Bond ignored his question, smirk growing wider as he stepped forward, reaching up a hand to card through Q's hair. Q's breath caught slightly, the feeling of rough fingers mussing his hair sending a small shock down his spine. He blushed lightly and swatted the hand away, trying his very best to scowl menacingly at the smug agent. Bond just chuckled and held up a thin pine needle.

"That's better," he said, amusement obvious in his voice. He grabbed Q's hand and dropped the pine needle into it. Q snatched his hand away.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked pointedly, stepping back slightly. 007 was still crowding his space, and Q was not okay with that; it sent tingles through his body and was very distracting.

"Just came by to see how my favorite Quartermaster is doing today," Bond replied casually, stuffing his hands in his jacket and looking much more at home then Q was comfortable with.

"I'm your only Quartermaster, Bond," Q said stiffly, turning around to fiddle with the tree.

"Doesn't mean you're not my favorite," Bond replied in low voice. Q looked back at him, and Bond gave him a grin that was much more seductive than it had any right to be. Q felt the blush creeping back, and he scowled, turning back to the tree. Bond sighed.

"Fine, M wanted me to tell you that you're to go home now, get ready for the party. He says that if you skip out, it'll be a month of sorting though his personal files and not much else," Q's scowl deepened, and he mentally put M on the checklist of people to hack when he was no longer at MI6. It wasn't that he was going to skip the party (although that option had been sorely tempting) it was that M felt he had to put a damn leash on him. He was 30, for Christ's sake, not 17.

"Tell M that he can shove it, and if he thinks he's going to subject me to organizing his arbitrary shit, he should be aware that I can and will hack into his computer and delete every 'personal file' he has," Q shot back, and Bond chuckled again before stepping forward, getting close enough to Q that he could feel the heat radiating off the agent's chest. Q's heart stuttered, and that damn blush popped up again, spreading fire through his cheeks and chest.

"With pleasure," Bond murmured in his ear. Q shuddered as deep notes resonated playfully off his neck. Hot breath fanned down his neck, rooting him to the spot, and he let out a small huff of air. Suddenly, Bond stepped away, leaving Q to shiver at the rush of cool air against his back and neck. By the time Q shook himself out of his daze and turned around, 007 was gone. Q's scowl came back full force.

"Bastard," he muttered, before turning back around and stubbornly toying with the bomb he had just placed on the tree.

٠٠٠٠٠

By the time the party rolled around, Q's scowl had not diminished. If anything, it had deepened. After Bond had left, nothing seemed to go as planned. An explosive had gone off right in the middle of a crucial phone call with the head tech at the CIA, leaving the interns to scramble and freak out while the tree fizzled and the tech yelled about sending a rescue team (because that's logical) and alerting the President (it seemed as though everyone was over reacting except for Q). Once the interns had been calmed and the tech talked out of phoning Obama, Q had headed home to change and grab a quick nap before the party started. But, of course, the tube had been grossly crowded as there seemed to be some sort of technical failure with what had to be at least half the trains. By the time Q had actually gotten home, he had had thirty minutes to change and be back at the office. And, just to top it off, the moment that he walked into the party was the moment one of his nervous subordinates had decided to turn around with his two cups of eggnog and spill them all over Q's jumper. He had apologized profusely, of course, and offered to give Q his shirt, but Q had just waved him off and went to change into the spare button down he kept in his office. It did nothing to alleviate his mood, especially since he was now cold as fuck in his silk shirt he was wearing underground in the middle of winter. Nothing better than that.

"Sweetie, you look a little chilled," Eve said in a slurred voice, swaying slightly. He scowled more while Eve smiled benevolently at him.

"Yes, I suppose I am a little chilled," He said, the edge in his voice lost on the tipsy woman in front of him. She pouted unhappily at him, stretching out her arms.

"C'mon, then, I'll warm you up," she said, and Q sighed quietly.

"That's very kind of you, Eve, but I'm fine on my own," he replied politely, and she shook her head.

"No, you're not fine on your own; your lips are turning blue! Just come here and I'll warm you up," She said stubbornly, and Q rubbed his temple.

"She's right, you know," came a smooth voice from behind him.

"Great," Q muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, a warm, heavy weight fell across his shoulders. Q grabbed the edges of it, turning around to see that Bond had draped his jacket over him.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, even while he was slipping his arms through the sleeves and wrapping himself further in the warmth. The corner of Bond's mouth twitched, and he stepped slightly closer, raising his hand to play with ends of Q's hair. Q felt enveloped by Bond, his scent overwhelming and the light touch on his neck electrifying, and his heartbeat picked up a little. Bond's face was open and genuine, and Q leaned forward slightly, unconsciously moving closer to the furnace that was 007.

"I want that back clean; no stains or dried fluids," Bond said, his lips curling into a smug smirk, and the moment was over. Q brushed the hand off of his neck, shooting a glare at the man in front of him, and turned to stalk off to the other side of the room.

"Bastard," he said angrily as he downed another cup of eggnog.

٠٠٠٠٠

The party was in full swing by the time 11:40 rolled around. People had consumed enough alcohol to lose their inhibitions but were still sober enough to navigate their way around the room without smacking into a wall. Q was enjoying himself well enough, shooting unsuspecting people with his undetectable dart, and things finally seemed to be going uphill. But of course that didn't last, not with Q's luck, and 20 minutes before he was to be released and allowed to go home, he ran into Bond again. As in, literally ran into. They bumped and Q's glasses hit Bond's chin, knocking them askew, while Bond's empty cup glanced off Q's elbow and tumbled to the floor. Q's scowl returned as he straightened his glasses and rubbed his head.

"Right then, goodbye," he said, turning to leave. Except, when he tried to step from the spot he was standing in, he found his feet wouldn't move. He looked back at Bond in confusion.

"What the…" he began, before it dawned on him, and he slowly looked up in horror.

"Shit," he said. Of course it would be the specialized mistletoe he had cooked up, the kind that didn't let the people under it move until they had kissed for at least 10 seconds. A little childish, to be sure, but Q had thought it clever at the time. Of course, at the time, he hadn't planned on getting stuck under it, especially not with James bloody Bond.

"That's one way of putting it," came the reply from in front of him. Bond was looking at him intently, dark eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. Q felt his throat dry up, and he coughed weakly.

"Bond, you're not seriously thinking…" Q trailed off, fingers plucking nervously at a stray thread in Bond's jacket.

"We don't have much choice, do we," Bond replied in a rough voice, deeper than Q remembered it to be.

"No, Bond, wait-" Q didn't get to finish his sentence, as a rough hand gripped his chin to tilt his head up, the other hand wrapping around his waist. Q's throat worked, the places where Bond was touching him lighting on fire, and any protest he had died in his throat.

Bond growled lightly and suddenly there was a mouth on his, hot and wet and so perfect Q thought he might melt. He trembled, fisting his hands in the front of Bonds shirt; his knees felt like they were made of jello. Sparks radiated throughout his body, and Bond cupped his head, nails scratching softly at his scalp and fingers lightly tugging his hair. Bond's tongue was slick and unyielding, prying his pliant mouth open and sliding against his own, running along his teeth and under his tongue and doing something wicked to the top of his mouth. Q couldn't think beyond the heat, beyond the electricity coursing through his body and the stubble scratching his cheeks.

It was only when they both ran short of breath and Bond broke the kiss to move and attack his neck that Q remembered exactly where they were. He was suddenly acutely aware of the you-could-hear-a-pin-drop silence and burning stares of his friends and coworkers, and he immediately flushed to his toes and scrambled against the solid weight pressed to him. He pushed hard against the firm chest in front of him, catching Bond off guard as he stumbled backward. God, did he look good; all pressed-red lips and dark eyes and mussed hair and Jesus Q needed to get out of here before he did something stupid. Well, something more stupid.

He turned on his heel to flee to his office, but a hand caught his wrist, tugging the jacket off his shoulder and freezing him in his tracks.

"Q," Bond's voice was dark as molasses and rough as gravel and intoxicating as whiskey and did frankly frightening things to Q's libido. He glanced back over his shoulder briefly, eyes wide with panic and residual lust. Bond looked back, his dark gaze captivating.

Q managed a whimper before he slipped out the jacket and all but sprinted back to his office.

٠٠٠٠٠

Q moaned, fisting himself faster. He was sitting on his desk in only his silk shirt, hot flushed and hornier than he had been in a long time. He knew that his walls were mostly glass, and that anyone walking by would see him, but he was too far gone to care, because god, the way James had looked…

He couldn't help sucking two fingers into his mouth, whimpering as they brushed the back of his throat. He curled his tongue around them, coating them in spit, before reluctantly pulling them out, his mouth all of a sudden too empty. He spread his legs further and, slipping his fingers behind his balls, shivered as they brushed his perineum. He pressed one against his entrance, leaning back further on the desk so that he was resting on his elbow. Shuddering in anticipation and gripping his cock harder, he pushed his finger in. It slipped in easily, and Q let out a breathy moan as he brushed his prostate.

Q desperately wished that they were thicker fingers, fingers that usually handled a gun but knew how to handle him just as well, and that the hand gripping his cock had more callouses and a rougher handle, jerking him fast and hard and messy while its owner whispered dirty nothings in his ear in a deep, rough voice that reverberated throughout his body. He unconsciously tilted his head back, imagining a hot mouth sucking dark bruises under his jaw, bruises the entire office would see the next day so they would all know just who Q belonged to.

He pressed another finger into himself, groaning and letting his head fall back even more.

"James," His voice was wrecked, breathy and broken, and Q couldn't bring himself to care. He was so close, so close, just a few more hot-dirty drags on his cock and slick twists on his prostate, and…

"Q?" Q immediately yanked his hand out of his arse, pushing himself up and flushing all the way down his chest. God, this was so embarrassing. He quickly tugged down his shirt, turning to deal with whoever just came in, only to come face to face with James Bond himself. His hair was still disheveled, and his eyes were so dark they looked black, and despite himself, Q felt his flagging erection twitch with renewed interest.

"007, this isn't- I mean, I'm not-" Q stuttered, blushing even brighter, before James grabbed his hair and pulled his head back and Q cut off with a whimper. Keeping his eyes locked with Q's, he leaned down and licked a hot, wet strip up his neck, and Q's throat clicked.

"Was that my name I heard just now, Q?" he growled when he reached Q's ear, and Q shuddered as hot breath washed down his jaw. He reached up to grip James' shirt, and slowly, hesitantly, he nodded. James' eyes got even darker, his mouth parting, and his grip in Q's hair tightened.

"Good," he muttered before diving in to claim Q's mouth for the second time that night. It was clear that James had been holding back under the mistletoe, because now Q could barely keep up with him. His tongue was everywhere, pressing against is teeth and lips and tongue, sliding dirty against the top of his mouth and plundering every reachable crevice. Q could do little else than let out small, broken sounds and press his body up against the agent's. He trembled when he felt James' cock pressing against his own, and couldn't stop himself from rubbing his body wantonly against the other man's, the rough catch of fabric against his cock making him even harder.

James pulled away, his other hand coming to grip Q's waist possessively.

"Such a slut for it, aren't you?" he whispered into Q's ear, and Q whimpered, throwing his head back and baring his neck for Bond. He was a slut for it, a total slut for it, and he didn't care.

"I've been thinking about this for so long. Thinking about having you under me, pliant and hungry for my cock. Sometimes I want to tie you up, leave you at my mercy for hours. Other times I want to eat you out, make you come on just my tongue alone," Q gasped in a breath.

"Yes, yes, God James anything you want, please," he was out of control, trembling like crazy, and James rubbed his hands down is sides, shushing him.

"I will love, I will. You're going to come so many times, you'll pass out," the agent's voice was hot and dark against his neck. Q took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at James.

"Is that a promise?" James' hands suddenly gripped tight on his sides, and before Q knew what was happening, he was flipped over, his elbows resting on the desk and feet planted on the ground. James bit down hard on the back of his neck, and Q arched in a silent cry, tremors running down his spine.

"Why don't you wait and find out?"

Q felt the hands fall from his side and James' knees hit the ground, but it wasn't until he felt the wet slide across his entrance that he realized James was making good on one of his fantasies, and he scrabbled at the table for something to hang onto. His tongue pushed against the small pucker, pushing inside, and Q moaned loudly. His breath was coming in short pants, and as James twisted deeper inside, he reached down, desperate for some sort of contact. His hand was swatted away, and he whined.

"No," James' voice was broken and rough and sent shivers down Q's spine, "I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to come on my cock alone,"

Q gasped as two fingers pushed in, bumping roughly against his prostate, and he curled in on himself a little. God, he needed to come so badly, but he wanted James' cock more. A third finger pressed in, and this time Q winced a little at the slight burn. He pressed back anyway, desperate to get James' fingers out of him and his cock in.

"James, James, that's enough, please, just fuck me," his voice was high and reedy and James yanked his fingers out. Q heard the condom wrapper being ripped open, and he could barely contain himself.

"Are you sure?" James asked, even as his erection was pushing against Q's entrance. Q just pressed back, and, thank god, James took the hint and pushed until the head popped in.

It hurt. It hurt a lot. It had been a while since Q had done this, but he grit his teeth and bore back anyway, because he knew it would go away faster that way. Inch after inch pressed into Q, more than he had ever taken, and it stretched him in the most beautifully painful way. When James finally bottomed out, he had to take a couple of deep breaths, because he honestly felt so full he thought he would burst. As he adjusted, his flagging erection began to grow again, as every jostle sent a shivery ache through him, and once he got past the pain, the fullness turned dirty sexy and he breathed out a thin moan.

Finally, _finally_, James started to move, and Q groaned, long and deep. Every time he pulled out, his cock caught on his prostate, and every time he pushed in, Q was stretched all over again. After just a few thrusts, Q was fully hard again, and was pushing back desperately to meet every thrust.

"God, Q, you're so fucking tight," James grit out, speeding up until Q could do nothing but press his hot skin against the cool glass of the desk and gasp. He could feel himself getting close, and when James changed angles so he was bumping directly into his prostate on every thrust, Q threw his head back, screamed, and came all over his desk.

James thrust in a couple more times before pressing in deeper than he had ever been and coming with a grunt.

Q felt like jelly. He whimpered quietly when James pulled out, and he vaguely heard the snap of the condom as James disposed of it. He had absolutely no intention of moving.

Unfortunately, James had other ideas. He pulled Q up and put him in his trousers, always keeping his arms around Q's waist.

"James, why'ryou moving?" Q mumbled out.

"Well, I was going to take you back to my place. I do have a promise to keep, after all," Q immediately perked up.

"Yes, yes you do. Very good point you bring up there. Only thing is, I'm not sure I can walk," James just smirked before swinging Q up into his arms. _Oh_. Q's cock twitched at that, and he found himself very wide awake all of a sudden.

"Yes, that works, OK good. Let's get the hell out of here, shall we?"

James leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Q's temple. Yes, this definitely works.


End file.
